Adam's Daughter

by Kristy Daniels

  The car screeched around a curve and she gripped the wheel tighter. The road dipped down a hill and through a tunnel of trees, and the fog engulfed the car. Kellen switched on the headlights.

  If it’s something I’ve done —

  It’s not you, Stephen, it’s me.

  “It’s not you,” she said softly. “It’s not me. Maybe it’s just us.”

  The sun had almost set by the time she pulled up to the dark house. She hurried up to the door, unlocked it, and went in. The house was stale from being closed and she went immediately to the glass doors leading to the deck and threw them open.

  She stepped out into the rush of fresh salty air and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. For several minutes, she just stood there, watching the sun disappear. She heard a sound behind her and turned.

  “I wanted to be here when you arrived,” Garrett said. “You beat me.”

  “I drive too fast.” She paused. “After you called and we agreed to meet here, I changed my mind. I wasn’t going to come.”

  “But you did,” he said.

  For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Garrett came toward her. He held out his arms and Kellen stepped into them.

  He held her, not tightly, and then she felt his hands go up under her hair to cradle the back of her head. She closed her eyes, waiting, expecting his kiss. Instead, she felt the brush of his lips over her eyelid.

  “A long time,” he whispered. “Such a long time.”

  His arms tightened around her and his lips touched her temple. She leaned into him, wanting to feel every part of him touching her. Then he kissed her, almost shyly.

  She pulled away, her eyes on him. She took his hand and led him to the bedroom. In the murky light, she could barely make out his face, but she steadfastly held his eyes as she slowly undressed. Then, she crossed the room and without a word unbuttoned his shirt. She bent her head to kiss the hollow of his throat. He slipped free of the shirt and her hands moved up over his waist and across the hard expanse of his back, her fingers greedily rediscovering his body.

  This time, when his lips found hers, his kiss was fierce and biting. And when he grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him, she gave out a cry, half laughter, half sob.

  They fell on the end of the bed. She was aware of nothing but his lips and hands moving over her body, touching her everywhere at once. Every time he tried to ease her back toward gentleness, she kissed him bruisingly, urging him on. Finally, he laid back in surrender.

  She straddled his hips and guided him inside her. She moved against him, slowly at first, then faster until her breath was coming in gasps and sweat beaded on her breasts. He watched her, swaying above him, her hair caressing his chest. He watched her face, entranced.

  When she cried out and collapsed against him, he clasped her to him as his own body tensed then went limp with a thunderous release.

  It was a moment before he realized she was crying. He held her more tightly, and her fingers dug into his arm. After a moment, she stopped and lay quietly on his chest. Finally, she got up and without a word, put on a robe.

  She switched on a small light. She stared at him for a moment then ran a hand through her tangled hair.

  “I don’t like myself for doing this,” she said. “But I’m here. I don’t know why but I have to be.”

  Garrett said nothing.

  “There are two things,” she said softly. “We won’t talk about the newspapers.”

  “All right,” Garrett said.

  She took a slow, deep breath. “And the other thing,” she said. “This is just sex. Don’t expect anything more from me.”

  After a moment she looked away. “There’s a robe you can use in the closet,” she said quietly, and she left the room.

  Garrett found the robe hanging amid the other men’s clothing but he shut the closet and put on his own clothes. When he went back out into the living room, Kellen was curled up in a chair. She looked up at him with wary eyes.

  “I’ll go get the bags,” he said.

  When he returned, she was in the same position, staring vacantly at the dark windows. He went to her, kneeling beside the chair.

  “Kellen, don’t do this,” he said.

  “What?” she said without looking at him.

  “This coldness. Don’t do this to me.”

  “You said you wanted what we had before. Well, this is it. This is what it was.”

  “No, it’s not. Before, there was a joy in what we did.”

  “It was sex, Garrett,” she said. “That’s all there was between us. Just sex. And that’s all it can be now.”

  “That’s not true. You know it’s not.”

  She closed her eyes, shutting him out.

  He took her hand. “We loved each other,” he said.

  “Stop,” she said, trying to pull her hand free but he gripped it harder.

  “We loved each other as completely as two people can.”

  She pulled her hand free and covered her face. “It’s different now,” she said.

  “It doesn’t have to be. Give me a chance to prove it. Let me love you.”

  Kellen’s hands dropped to her lap, her eyes closed. “I’m here. That’s all I can promise you.” She looked at him. “Please, Garrett, don’t pressure me. Please.”

  He rose. “All right, Kellen. Whatever you want.”

  They scarcely spoke to each other for the rest of the evening. Garrett drove into town to buy groceries and then made a supper of steak and salad. Kellen hardly touched it and sat at the table looking at him. They went to bed early, without making love, and Kellen fell asleep immediately in his arms.

  She was awakened in the morning by the press of Garrett’s lips on the back of her neck. When he made love to her, slowly and tenderly, it felt like the delicious lingering moments of a dream.

  They spent the day walking the beach, reading, and listening to music, sometimes together, sometimes apart. Kellen knew Garrett was giving her wide emotional breadth. Gradually she began to relax. She felt something unfamiliar around him, a calmness that before had been overpowered by the omnipresent current of sexuality.

  The second night, she decided to try her own hand at making dinner. She was an inept cook; nothing in her upbringing had prepared her for the mysteries of the kitchen. But she remembered watching the cook make an omelet, and she attempted one, which she garnished with fresh fruit and brought to the table.

  Garrett stared at the huge blob of egg for a moment. Kellen took her place across from him and waited.

  “That’s the ugliest damn omelet I’ve ever seen,” he said with a smile.

  After that, the tension eased more and their conversation was relaxed though still cautious. She cleared the dishes and when she returned from the kitchen, she saw Garrett standing near a desk, looking at a display of framed photographs.

  “This must be your mother,” he said, holding out a frame as Kellen came over to him.

  “Everyone says I look just like her,” she said.

  “Yes. Just as beautiful.” He picked up a photograph of Adam. “This is your father?”

  Kellen nodded. Garrett put it back in its place. There was a cluster of several other photographs, of her with Stephen and with the children. Garrett studied them for a moment then picked up a small one in a silver frame. Kellen held her breath.

  “That’s Sara,” she said.

  It was a recent school portrait, and it captured Sara in a rather formal pose, her dark hair neatly pulled back with a blue bow, her blue eyes serious. Garrett looked at the picture for a long time. Then he carefully returned it to its exact spot between pictures of Ben and Stephen.

  He looked up at Kellen, and her heart skipped a beat. She saw the question in his eyes.

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t drink it.” She went to a liquor cabinet. “Maybe some brandy. I think I’ve got some here...”

  She poured two glasses and brought them over to the sofa whe
re Garrett was now sitting. She waited, her heart pounding, waited for him to ask about Sara.

  But he didn’t. He just sat there, staring at the fire, sipping his drink.

  “You have a beautiful family,” he said quietly.

  She shut her eyes.

  “Stephen’s a lucky man,” he said.

  She heard the sad envy in his voice and knew he would not ask her about Sara. She felt a strange sense of relief. He knew the truth; he had to. But he was, for some reason, allowing it to remain unspoken between them. True to his word, he wasn’t going to pressure her in any way. Everything would be on whatever terms she wanted.

  “I miss having a family,” he said.

  She glanced over at his profile. Her heart, which she had set so hard against him, softened. “Why didn’t you remarry after your wife died?” she asked softly.

  It was a moment before he answered. “I don’t know. I probably should have while I was still young enough. Now I’m forty-three and I know too much.” He smiled wryly. “I’m not so brave anymore.”

  She looked away toward the fire.

  “Besides,” he added, “I have this strange middle-class notion of romantic love. And you’re the only woman I have ever loved enough to want to marry.”

  “Garrett, please...”

  He cupped her chin in his hand. “I know. I said I wouldn’t pressure you. But I didn’t say I’d lie to you.” She tried to turn away but he wouldn’t let her. “Listen to me, Kellen. I’m getting older. I want a family of my own.”

  Why doesn’t he ask about Sara? she thought.

  “Things didn’t work out for us the first time,” Garrett went on. “But they could now. I know that you and Stephen have a history together. But do you really love him?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then why are you here?” he said. “No matter what you say, I won’t believe it’s just sex.”

  She looked at him, her eyes brimming. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ve loved you from the day we met,” Garrett said. “And I know —- I know, dammit —- that you love me. I feel it in the way you touch me, the way -—”

  The phone rang and Kellen jumped. It rang several more times before she finally rose and answered it. Garrett watched her as she picked it up.

  “Hello? Oh, hi, baby,” she said. Her voice was soft but artificially light. “I know, Mama misses you, too.”

  Kellen slumped slightly, closing her eyes. “You did? That’s great. Soon, I’ll be home real soon.” There was a long pause. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Kellen said softly.

  Another pause. And Kellen turned her back to Garrett. “You shouldn’t let her stay up so late,” she said.

  Garrett looked away, at the fire. He knew from the tone of her voice that she was talking to Stephen.

  “Sunday...I’ll be back Sunday. I’ve got to go. I...I’m really tired and want to get some sleep.” Kellen murmured something else and hung up the phone but she made no move to return to the sofa. When Garrett looked back at her, she was just standing there, staring vacantly, her hand covering her mouth. Finally, she looked at him.

  “Was that Sara?” he asked.

  She nodded, the guilt etched in her face.

  “Kellen, I —-”

  “You’ve got to leave, Garrett,” she said softly.

  “What?”

  “Please. Please just go.”

  He started to object but then saw her eyes fill with tears, and he realized how hard she was trying to contain them. He had done exactly what he said he wouldn’t. He had pressured her, and now the call from Sara had driven her to the edge. The wrong move from him now would push her over and away from him forever.

  He rose and went into the bedroom. A few minutes later, when he emerged with his suitcase, she was still standing in the same position.

  “There’s an inn down the road,” she said distractedly.

  “No, I’ll just drive back to the city,” he said.

  He went to the door, opened it and paused, turning back to her. “Can I see you again?” he asked.

  She shut her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said.

  He left the house and got in his car. He sat there for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. He wanted to go back in the house, but he knew there was nothing he could do or say right now to persuade her. He realized suddenly the magnitude of what he was asking of her —- to give up everything just because he said he wanted her.

  Why should she? Why should she believe anything he said after what had happened eight years ago?

  But he was not going to give up. Not now. He had come back to see if whatever it was that had once bound them together was still there. It was. He knew it now. But there was something more.

  Sara...

  Seeing that photograph had sent a searing jolt of shock through him, and his mind had quickly calculated back the years. Sara had to be his daughter. Somehow he had hidden his reaction and resisted the surge of questions that had come to him. He didn’t want to ask; he wanted Kellen to tell him. He had given her several chances, but she hadn’t.

  He looked back at the house one last time then started the car. He felt a strange sad elation.

  He had a daughter.

  Kellen and he were bound together in a way he had never anticipated. But what did it mean? Nothing, unless Kellen was willing to acknowledge it. He pulled out of the drive, glancing back once again at the house. He would wait until she was ready to trust him again. That was all he could do. Just wait.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Kellen stood by the copy desk in the middle of the newsroom. Surrounding her, in a quiet semicircle, were most of the editorial employees of the San Francisco Times —- reporters, editors, columnists, photographers, secretaries and clerks. More than three hundred pairs of eyes were leveled at her, waiting.

  As she scanned the faces, he recognized a few from her stint working in the newsroom ten years earlier. Clark was standing off to one side, watching her with a small smile.

  She straightened her shoulders. “I know many of you are nervous about this move to morning publication,” she began, her voice strong and clear. “I’m here today to try to explain why it’s necessary to the survival of the Times.”

  She went on to talk about the ongoing circulation drain, the delivery problems, and the loss of market share to the Journal. She told them about the need for the new suburban plant, and that Stephen was currently in San Mateo developing the plant site. She explained that she would be honest with them, that they had a right to know what was happening.

  When she was finished, she paused. “I’ll be glad to answer any questions,” she said.

  After the topic of the conversion was exhausted, there were other questions about salary and budget freezes.

  “I know you’ve all been patient,” she said. “And I have to ask for you to be patient for a little longer. Most of our resources must now be directed at bolstering circulation and the new plant. But no more salary freezes. We are budgeting a modest three-percent increase for salaries this year.”

  There were murmurs of surprise. Ian had instituted a newsroom salary freeze eighteen months ago, and now Kellen, with one quick stroke and Tyler’s vote, was wiping it out.

  The questions kept coming. Most were about small concerns but Kellen answered each one patiently. She had purposely not been much of a presence in the newsroom during recent years and she sensed now that perhaps she had pulled back too far. As empathetic as Stephen was, it was different for employees to have the owner’s ear. Just as with the other newspapers, they needed to know a Bryant still cared.

  A reporter who had driven in for the meeting from a suburban bureau talked about feeling isolated and unappreciated. A photographer complained about having to ration his film. The baseball writer bemoaned budget cuts that prevented him from covering spring training. A copy editor asked if the Times was going to start using computers, which triggered a long and lively debate about technology.

&
nbsp; Kellen was listening to the exchange when she noticed Ian standing off in a far corner. He was watching her, his arms folded across his chest, his dark eyes glaring at her.

  “Mrs. Hillman,” a voice called out. “I have a question.”

  A young man took a step forward. He was about twenty-five, with keen eyes. Kellen had never seen him before.

  “I grew up reading the Times,” he said. “I admired it and always wanted to work for it. During the year I’ve worked here I’ve heard lots of rumors about your selling, and like a lot of people around here, I get the feeling this is a rudderless ship.”

  “What’s your question, Bailey?” It was the managing editor, Ray, bristling slightly.

  The young man looked at Kellen. “Every great newspaper should have a vision, a concept of what it stands for. What’s yours, Mrs. Hillman?”

  All eyes, which had been locked on the man, turned toward Kellen.

  “I believe,” she said, “that a newspaper is unlike any other business, that it must somehow transcend its preoccupation with profit and loss to focus on a greater goal. I believe that a newspaper is a sacred trust, that it has an obligation to serve its readers first.” She smiled slightly. “And its owners second, if necessary.”

  She focused on Ian. “I know the Times has lost something, that some of its substance has drained away,” she said. “But I know that we can get it back. I see the Times as a paper that stands for what’s best in people, as a newspaper of great passion. And I see it soon taking back its place as the single most important source of information in this community. I don’t have to tell you that this is a special city, with a unique personality. Nothing can reflect that better than a good newspaper. And no one —- certainly not the Journal —- can do it better than we can.”

  The young reporter was still staring at her.

  “Vision is a difficult thing to articulate,” Kellen said with a smile. “That is the best I can do.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Then Ray stepped forward and asked if there were any other questions. There were none, so the crowd slowly dispersed throughout the newsroom. Clark came over to Kellen and Ray.